


Blood and Steel

by pluto



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto/pseuds/pluto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke's actions return to haunt her, and Fenris struggles with what to say.</p><p>Post game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Steel

**Author's Note:**

> for Mangacat. Happy Christmas!

Fenris found Hawke by the campfire, in the sort of dark study that was his own specialty. As he neared, he saw she had a dagger in her lap.

“Hawke,” he said, dropping into a crouch beside her. “Dare I ask?”

Looking up at him, a smile ghosted over her lips, and she reached over to brush his bared upper arm. His lyrium markings glowed brief and faint under her touch. “Have I already said how glad I am that you are with me?”

His own mouth curled slightly. “Four times.”

“Then I must truly mean it.” Her gaze turned distant, searching the dark. Fenris hated the look of naked steel in her lap, and reached over to move the dagger somewhere safer, but she laid her fingers over his, stopping him. Her other hand curved over the hilt and she took the dagger away. As she sheathed it he recognized the blade as the one she carried at her belt for any number of purposes: to cut rope, to dispatch a mortally wounded enemy, to defend herself in a pinch if the combat grew too close for her staff and spells.

It was the dagger that had so recently drunk Anders’ blood.

He waited for her to say something, but she only shifted closer to him, pressing her arm to his, as if for warmth, though it was plenty warm by the fire. Unwillingly, he recalled that she and Anders had been lovers, briefly, in the time before Fenris had realized his own feelings. He remembered the carry of their voices over the din of the Hanged Man crowd, first filled with longing and pleasure, later raised in anger and conflict. Once, after Fenris had begged forgiveness for his own foolishness—leaving her alone for three years—she had lain beside him in the dark and confessed, bitterly, that Anders could never see the difference between loving his quest and loving him. Mage freedom, yes, but not by any means. That small difference had torn them apart.

He recalled the steady, desperate look in Anders’ eyes at his end. In that moment Fenris had known that Anders still loved Hawke. That he meant it, when he said that he would not have had his death by any other.

And Hawke…

Her fingers crept up to brush the nape of his neck, scrub through the close-shorn hair there, and she sought his mouth like a kiss was all the comfort she needed. Fenris kissed her knowing she needed more; also knowing he did not know how to give it. When her mother had been killed… he had often thought that Anders would have known the right words to say.

Fenris was never good with anyone else’s pain. He was hardly much good with his own.

“I’m so glad you’re with me,” Hawke said again. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, drew her close. Words came and escaped without being spoken: that he would protect her from anything, that she led him places he had not known he would go, that he would never leave her. That he was glad she was with him, that she saw anything in his fool self.

Something dug into his side as he embraced her. Both looking down, they saw the dagger, not properly seated in its sheathe. He heard her breath catch, and felt her tense.

Haltingly, he said, “You can’t blame yourself, Hawke. It was the price he always knew he would pay. The death he wanted.”

“If I had been…” she started to say, but then she seemed to lose her breath. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck; by her expression, he couldn’t tell if it was rage or grief that shook her.

“Don’t you regret it!” Fenris hated Anders more fiercely than ever in that moment; and then it passed into pity. “You cannot stop a madman. Not with love, not with friendship, not with loyalty. He can only drag you down into madness with him.”

She took a deep breath, her nails still curved into his neck. And then she relaxed. “No, you are right. Of course you are right.” She gave Fenris a smile, and then stood. “We should sleep; it will be an early morning tomorrow. We’re to meet Varric in the Six Fishes Inn by early afternoon. And Sebastian sent word: he has offered us refuge in Starkhaven.”

Fenris nodded. Hawke busied herself with setting up their shared bedroll. Standing himself, Fenris noticed something glinting on the ground. It was the dagger, fallen from her belt.

He bent and retrieved it, opened his mouth to offer it to her. Then he paused. He narrowed his eyes briefly.

“You will not come between us now, mage,” he growled.

Fenris turned and flung the dagger into the dark. It vanished into the blackness.

Softer, he said, “May you find some peace at last… even as I have.”

Hawke called for him, and Fenris went to help her, feeling easy for the first time since they had fled Kirkwall.


End file.
